


Autodidact

by yohan



Series: Autodidact [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Human Genitalia, Pining, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yohan/pseuds/yohan
Summary: After installing new sensory upgrades, Connor's life begins to change.‘If I knew my hair was gonna bug you so much, I wouldn’t have cut it,’ said Hank, eyebrows raised.‘It’s not bugging me.’'Uh huh?’ said Hank, disbelieving.‘It’s not bugging menegatively.'‘So what, you like ittoomuch? It’s just a damn haircut.’Connor decided that in this instance, honesty was the best policy. ‘I want to touch it,’ he admitted.





	1. Chapter 1

More androids were going out in public without skin, these days.

Most of the new deviants were like Connor, retaining their original design with a few cautious modifications like hairstyles and clothing. A few others tried to blend in with the humans, hiding their LEDs and designing new skins to differentiate from the standard Cyberlife models. But a significant number were now deactivating their skin entirely, revealing their plastic chassis and rendering themselves outwardly identical. Connor projected that in the near future, this would lead to a spike in hate crimes. Yet another one of those baffling human contradictions: people claimed to support self-expression, yet recoiled when someon stood out too much from the crowd.

Even Hank, whose anti-android sentiments were long gone, had expressed dismay when he first saw one outside without skin. He’d muttered something about the Terminator. Now, though:

‘Are you going to try that?’

Stuck in traffic, Hank was gazing out the car window to where a skinless android was walking down the street, given a wide berth by the human pedestrians.

Connor pictured himself going skinless among the other officers at the precinct, his gleaming plastic body exposing him as a interloper. ‘No.’

‘Why not?' asked Hank. 'Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Unless that’s the android version of nudism, in which case, uh, don’t bother to tell me.’ He snorted at his own joke. ‘Wait, it’s not, is it?’

‘It is not the android version of nudism,’ said Connor, primly. ‘According to the chatter I’ve seen online, they want to reject the human concept of expressing outward individuality.’

‘So what, they’re like a collective? A hive?’

‘They’re still individuals inside. Androids have no practical need for our pre-programmed skins, aside from making humans feel more comfortable. I believe these ones just... dislike the idea of keeping somethiing that was imposed on us by our designers.’

In the half-second pause before Hank replied, Connor replayed his own words. _They. Our._ You didn’t need advanced analytical skills to notice he was having identity issues. More and more often now, his speech came out like this: unpredictable, even to himself.

‘Hey, you don’t feel that way, right?’

‘If I did, I already would have done something about it,’ said Connor. ‘I see no reason to change my appearance. After all, it’s not as if humans have much choice in the matter from their own creators, so to speak.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ said Hank wrily. Apparently satisfied, he turned his attention back to the road.

Connor decided not to mention Hank’s own influence on his choice. Hank would undoubtedly not respond well. Despite his constant attempts to discourage Connor from supposedly freakish behavior like licking inanimate objects, Hank always reacted violently to the idea of impacting Connor’s personal growth. On several occasions, he’d voiced concerns about being a bad influence, or impinging on Connor’s independence. But the fact was, Hank’s opinion had always been a key factor in Connor’s conception of himself.

While Connor had no plans for a redesign, he didn’t feel a strong personal attachment to his original face, either. Hank was the only person who'd care if he changed it. Humans formed strong bonds and opinions based on physical attributes, and while Hank probably didn’t see it that way, he derived obvious enjoyment from Connor’s face. His comments about Connor’s “goofy” appearance mirrored the kind of teasing banter he’d share with a human partner, and he secretly prided himself on telling the difference between Connor’s awkward new facial expressions, and the smoother ones that came from his Cyberlife programming. Despite his inability to sync with Connor's mind, Hank still truly knew him. Not in the superficial sense of casual human friendship, but deeply.

Peeling off into traffic, Hank was speaking again.

‘Hell, I get it,’ he was saying, still talking about the skinless androids. ‘They probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison, but that’s a very human reaction. Sticking it to the man. It’s probably just a matter of time before we see a Traci separatist commune, and fuck knows I wouldn’t blame them.’ He glanced across at Connor. ‘You know, you _shouldn’t_ knock it till you’ve tried it. This is meant to be like your teen rebellion phase, right? You should test the skin thing for yourself, even if it’s just once.’

Connor shot him a dry look. ‘I hope you understand the irony of you, my human oppressor, sharing advice on how to rebel.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ said Hank, rolling his eyes, and left the topic alone.

*

The seed was planted, though. That night at 3.34am, once Hank’s heartbeat indicated he was fully asleep, Connor went to the bathroom, the only place in the house with a mirror. After a few seconds of very human hesitation, he locked the door.

It was a moment’s work to switch off his skin. Synthetic flesh retreated over his white plastic casing, revealing a face that Connor recognized only as an android, not as himself. He didn’t experience the dissociation that some deviants reported when seeing their literal inner selves; just a faint sense of ridiculousness that he was still wearing clothes, something that only felt culturally necessary when he looked human. Shrugging out of his shirt to reveal his smooth plastic torso, he was indistinguishable from any other skinless android of a similar build.

The glossy white of his body blended oddly with the porcelain of Hank’s bathtub and sink. Gazing at his reflection in the shaving mirror, Connor went online and pulled up one of the bigger android forums, where he’d seen people talking about deactivating their skin. Most of the threads were political or philosophical, debating issues that Connor didn’t find relevant to himself. He didn't feel deeply alienated from his human surroundings, nor did he want to make a political statement. However, a few posts mentioned removing their skin as a recreational choice after downloading sensory upgrades, which was intriguing.

 _I find that tactile input is much more effective without skin or clothing_ , wrote one android. _Cyberlife's emphasis_ _on sight and sound is inefficient and limiting_. Another mentioned how she’d become obsessed with swimming after she installed better nerve receptors. Apparently the feeling of water against a bare chassis was truly unique.

This piqued Connor’s interest. He was designed specifically for investigation and pursuit: sensitive fingertips, excellent eyesight and image-recognition, and the oral analysis hardware that made Hank so uncomfortable at crime scenes. Connor doubted that he could experience taste in a human fashion without extensive reprogramming, but touch was a definite possibility. He had the same nerve receptors as any other recent android model; they just weren’t fully activated yet.

Tactile sensation patches had been available on the darkweb since long before the revolution. The appeal was obvious. The ability to interpret physical sensation was a simple dividing line between living beings and machines: One felt pleasure and pain, while the other did not.

After perusing the software upgrades compatible with his system, Connor settled on one of the top-rated patches. Minutes later, the new upgrades were installed, and he pressed a tentative hand to the surface of the mirror. His true first experience of touch.

 _Cold!_ he thought suddenly, surprising himself. A wholly different experience from the clinical tone of his original sensors, which just measured the temperature. Dragging his fingers down the mirror was another new sensation: smooth, frictionless, light. Tapping was different again, but similarly neutral: not registering as positive or negative. It was like his whole body had become an eardrum, translating vibrations into a new language he hadn’t quite learned how to speak.

Thinking of the post he’d read about swimming, he turned the faucet and ran his fingers through the water. _Is this tickling?_ he wondered. It couldn’t be; he didn't feel the urge to laugh. But it must be something close. Curious, he reactivated his skin and ran a hand down his arm. This, at last, confirmed what the other androids had written online. For lack of a better word, it was... nice. It must be similar to what humans felt, when they touched each other for comfort.

Connor was nothing if not thorough. Removing the rest of his clothes, he confirmed that some parts of his body were more sensitive than others. His neck, his face, the backs of his knees, his groin. Logging back onto the discussion forum, he wasn’t surprised to learn that most of the upgrade’s code had come from Traci models. They had the most sophisticated sensation receptors, and it was easy to map their software onto other bodies.

Running his fingertips over the smooth, tingling space between his legs, Connor wondered for the first time if he could have sex now. If he even wanted to. It still felt like an abstract concept. Before, he'd only thought of it when Detective Reed called him “dickless,” an epithet that barely even registered as an insult.

At any rate, sex didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon. A human partner would either fetishize or be alarmed by his lack of genitals, and Connor was hardly going to experiment with Markus or North, his only android friends.

More to the point, he was already wondering how effective his new upgrades would be in that context. The Traci programming was designed to mimic human erogenous zones, but Connor’s natural nerve-endings were more effective elsewhere: his hands, his mouth, and any areas that required extra protective capabilities in case of damage, like the seams over the maintenance panels in his chest. Sex almost seemed less appealing than the simple connection of touching another person with his hands. That would be easy enough to test with Hank, a habitual hand-shaker and back-slapper.

This momentary thought of Hank changed the course of Connor’s thoughts like a rock thrown into an eddying stream.

Just as Connor was stroking a palm thoughtfully down the skin of his sternum, cataloguing the pleasant buzz of new feelings, an image flashed before his eyes, unbidden. Not just an image but a vivid multisensory scene, almost a false memory. It was as if his own hands were replaced by another pair, larger and scarred with age.

Hank was suddenly standing in front of him, wearing one of the fond expressions that only emerged at unexpected moments. He was close enough that Connor could feel Hank's breath caressing his skin, and he was touching Connor with the kind of firm tenderness he gave to Sumo. Or no, not just that. As Connor drew a line down his own chest, shivering, he imagined Hank doing the same thing with more than just friendly affection. It was an avaricious touch: somehow hungry, and guided by Connor’s own sudden desire to —

'Oh,' he said out loud, to the empty room.

Well then. No longer so abstract after all.

*

It took Hank less than a day to notice that something had changed. Fortunately, Connor had an excuse for his odd behavior. His new upgrades made him want to touch everything, and Connor spent the entire morning running his hands along walls and desks and car seats, at one point surreptitiously picking up Hank’s warm coffee cup and pressing it against his cheek.

By the afternoon, Hank was watching him with increasing suspicion. He finally broke when he caught Connor pushing the tip of a pen into the palm of his own skinless hand. Pointy!

‘What are you doing?’

Connor saw no reason to lie. ‘I downloaded a patch that allows me to experience physical sensations more authentically.’

‘So along with licking everything, you’re going to go around stroking things too?’ asked Hank, and then looked abruptly embarrassed.

‘It’s a very popular upgrade,’ said Connor.

‘I’ll bet.’ Hank paused. ‘Wait, does that mean you feel pain now?’

‘I can feel some discomfort in addition to receiving error messages now, yes. But I opted out of experiencing extreme pain.’

‘Must be nice,’ Hank muttered.

Connor said nothing. With the exception of occasional injuries on the job, most of Hank’s pain was self-inflicted, and they both knew it. Even if Hank somehow acquired an android-like ability to dull his nerves, it would not solve the problems within.

‘Hey!’ Hank exclaimed, clearly uncomfortable with the gloomy mood he’d introduced to the conversation. ‘You should try that hand thing with Sumo. Pet his fur. That’s part of why humans tend to prefer mammal pets, right?'

‘I already did.’

‘How was it?’ asked Hank, with genuine curiosity.

Connor thought back to this morning before work, when he’d accepted a doggy hug from Sumo, warm fur tickling Connor’s face as Sumo jumped up and tried to lick his nose. It had been... ‘Nice,’ said Connor.

‘That’s it? Nice?’

Connor shrugged. ‘Yes. I suppose it gave me a better understanding of how you and Sumo express affection for each other, and fur is intrinsically pleasant to touch, although I suspect you and I process the experience differently. But I already enjoyed his company, even before the upgrade.’

Hank was smiling a little again, involuntarily. ‘That’s... good. And it’s not gonna be an issue at crime scenes, right?’

‘I can switch it off to focus on analysis.’

‘Cool. Well, welcome to the next step on the learning process, I guess.’

Connor didn’t mention that the crime scene question was already a moot point. If Hank was present, Connor would surely be distracted anyway, regardless of which program he might or might not be running.

*

It was interesting to recognize in himself the same patterns of behaviour that he’d been programmed to notice in others. In this case: denial.

After that night in the bathroom, it now seemed blindingly obvious that his affection for Hank had a romantic component. Connor wasn’t struggling with the kind of anguish described in popular human love stories, but there was a persistent... itch. He wanted more from Hank, both physically and in some intangible sense he couldn’t quite describe.

His fantasies were evolving, too.

Before he deviated, his imagination had consisted solely of preconstructions. He calculated probabilities and theorized about potential futures, but he'd never daydreamed. Now, he found that his mind could generate all kinds of scenarios with no conscious input. Many were not desirable. A few days ago, he’d found himself imagining what it would be like when Sumo died; how sad Hank would be to lose his oldest friend.

Connor’s most consistent daydreams involved Hank taking better care of his health. Those had begun early on in their friendship, and now they were joined by fantasies of a more sexual nature. 

These fantasies fell into two rough categories. The first were projections of how he and Hank might actually have sex in real life. The second were more abstract, like his inexplicable craving to have Hank lie down with his full weight on top of Connor’s body and trigger the pressure sensors across his torso and legs. Or the scenario where Connor switched off his skin and Hank carefully opened the panels in his chest, plunging his hands into Connor’s exposed wiring like a full-body sync. These fantasies were the best and most all-consuming, but they were also the least likely. They strayed too far from the human comfort zone for sexual activity. So Connor spent more time devising fictional plans for seduction, arriving at the conclusion that Hank would respond best to an appeal to his sense of loyalty.

‘You’re my closest friend,’ Connor would say, explaining that he wanted to experiment with sex, and he didn’t want to do it with anyone else. The truth, but not the whole truth. 

Hank would protest at first, telling Connor he should try other androids, or use a dating app. He’d probably make a negative comment about his own appearance, contrasting with Connor’s youthful design. But Connor would win him over eventually.

‘I’ve put a lot of thought into my decision,’ Connor would say (or words to that effect). ‘Don’t you keep saying I should make my own choices and figure out what I want?’ And then Connor would kiss him, and Hank would come to understand he was speaking the truth.

At this point the fantasies diverged into two further options. Either Connor would extrapolate a realistically ambiguous outcome — that Hank would acquiesce out of affection, kindness, and latent sexual frustration — or Connor would embrace pure self-indulgence and imagine that Hank secretly reciprocated his feelings all along. That Hank was also plagued by the same desperate hunger to touch. This version of Hank, overwhelmed with inarticulate relief, would dive into the kiss and fist his hands in Connor’s jacket. He'd give Connor as long as he wanted to explore his body.

Hank’s poor self-image would probably make him more reluctant in real life, but these scenarios only existed inside Connor’s mind, so he allowed himself some creative license. Imaginary Hank let Connor pull him into the bedroom and strip off his clothes, making fun of Connor’s hurried fingers.

They twined together like the lovers Connor saw in movies, and Imaginary Hank acclimatized quickly to Connor’s lack of human genitals. His calloused hands swept over Connor’s newly sensitized skin.

Most of the time Connor didn’t imagine how his own orgasm would happen, although he’d quickly figured out how to do it in real life, teasing his own body with this very fantasy. It ended the same way every time: with Connor giving Imaginary Hank a blowjob, simulated in real life by Connor sucking frantically on his own fingers, a feedback loop between his mouth and the complex sensors in his hands.

Hank was unlikely to appreciate the series of thought experiments that led Connor to decide on this outcome. But among the available options for someone with Connor’s body, oral sex was the most obvious choice. He'd come to this conclusion logically.

For the most part, Hank fulfilled expectations for a straight American man of his generation and socioeconomic background. He didn’t put much effort into his appearance, and his house was appropriately messy for the stereotype of a middle-aged bachelor. He enjoyed pursuits that were generally perceived as masculine, like watching sports or vintage non-interactive movies, and eating junk food. He didn’t express his emotions easily, although that could be an offshoot of his depression. And when he made vague references to potential romantic partners, he referred to them with female pronouns.

In short, Hank gave every appearance of being heterosexual. Human sexuality was fluid, however. Connor hadn’t detected any signs of homophobia either, which was promising. The worst thing Hank did in that regard was correct Connor when he transgressed against the social rules for male friendship, like when he did Hank’s laundry, or took a lick from his ice cream cone. And even then, Hank seemed to act with a genuine desire to protect Connor from misunderstandings. He wasn't actually uncomfortable with Connor's behavior. If he had been, he wouldn't have invited Connor to move in.

These factors suggested a slim possibility that Hank might be attracted to him, coupled with a strong likelihood that he'd be relatively conservative about sex. So: blowjobs.

This conclusion felt so obvious to Connor that it was only afterwards — after he’d visualized it in memorable detail, after he’d stuffed his fingers in his mouth and fumbled his way to his first orgasm, after he’d run his hands across his bare skin in Hank’s bathroom, pretending it was Hank touching him instead — that he realized the real Hank might not approve. Connor had constructed his first and most regularly revisited sexual fantasy around his expectations for what _Hank_ might want. That was the exact opposite of how Hank thought Connor should explore his new identity.

This conflict chased itself around Connor’s mind. He admitted to himself that it probably _wasn’t_ healthy to obsess over an imaginary scenario that he’d created by profiling Hank’s theoretical sex life. At the same time, what was more human than being aroused by something mildly unethical? Even if it was, technically speaking, only unethical toward himself? He wanted to put his mouth on Hank. He wanted to watch him come. He wanted to engage in human-style sex with him, which was ultimately more plausible and therefore more emotionally satisfying than imagining Hank getting his fingers blue with thirium after opening Connor’s body and touching him inside. No matter how much Connor wanted that, too.

So at night, when Hank and Sumo were asleep, Connor turned up his sensory capabilities until he overloaded, immersing himself in an unlikely future where Hank allowed Connor to hold him down and lie between his legs in his messy, unmade bed.

* 

Connor wasn’t the only one who was changing. In the weeks since they’d returned to work at the DPD, Hank had cut down on drinking and his skin tone was noticeably healthier. He still lived almost exclusively on takeout unless Connor intervened, but he’d started to use the police department gym. He went at night, to lower the risk of bumping into any coworkers.

Hank’s attitude to his own health was so volatile that Connor decided not to comment on the late-night workouts. Unfortunately, he didn’t manage the same level of restraint when Hank got a haircut.

It wasn’t even a particularly drastic change. In fact if anyone else at the precinct even noticed, they didn’t bother to comment.

Connor noticed within seconds of Hank returning from his lunch break.

Hank still had longer hair than most male police officers, who favored military styles out of practicality or conservatism. A fringe of grey hair still hung over Hank's eyes, but it was neater than before. The back had been trimmed shorter, as had his beard, transforming him from a man who had long hair and a beard because he didn’t care about personal grooming, to a man who had longish hair and a beard by choice. Coupled with his healthier lifestyle, it continued an overall impression that Hank was finally recovering from his depression. Connor felt warm at the knowledge that he'd helped, in the same way that Hank’s friendship had helped him in turn.

As Hank sat down at his desk, Connor zoomed in on the way the individual strands of hair brushed against Hank’s collar, causing Hank to twitch occasionally in surprise. It allowed for a rare glimpse of the nape of his neck. Connor wondered if it tickled. The biggest difference was the texture, where the hairdresser must have used some kind of product. It looked soft, and Connor, predictably, wanted to touch.

He tried to keep a lid on his curiosity, glancing out the corner of his eye as Hank logged into his computer and started checking case files. But Hank was not unobservant, and eventually he noticed Connor watching.

‘Alright, out with it,’ he said, outwardly aggressive, but with an undercurrent of real self-consciousness. ‘Do I look weird?’

‘Judging by your past comments, you don’t consider me capable of knowing what “looks weird,” so why would my opinion even matter?’

‘Damn straight,’ said Hank.

‘However,’ said Connor. ‘I do think it looks good. Neat.’

Hank pretended not to be pleased at Connor’s comment, and that would’ve been the end of it, if not for Connor’s newfound lack of self control.

He couldn’t help watching Hank for the rest of the afternoon, tracking the tiny differences like how his mouth was more visible now his beard had been trimmed. There was no way that Hank, an experienced detective, could fail to notice. So when Connor pointlessly trailed after Hank to watch him prepare dinner that night, he should have guessed what would happen next.

‘If I knew my hair was gonna bug you so much, I wouldn’t have cut it,’ said Hank, turning away from the kitchen counter to face Connor, his eyebrows raised.

‘It’s not bugging me.’

‘Uh huh?’ said Hank, disbelieving.

‘It’s not bugging me _negatively_.’

‘So what, you like it _too_ much? It’s just a damn haircut.’

Connor decided that in this instance, honesty was the best policy. ‘I want to touch it,’ he admitted.

Hank choked. ‘What? Connor, you can’t just say shit like that. It’s not... it's not appropriate.’

‘If I made you uncomfortable — ‘

‘No, No. Don't sweat it. I’m good. It's just - that kind of thing has connotations, you know?’ He stopped short, seemingly unwilling explain what those “connotations” actually were.

‘I’m aware of that. I wouldn’t say something like this to anyone else. I was just telling you...’ Connor floundered for a non-incriminating explanation. ‘I was just telling you the truth,’ he finished.

Hank’s mouth twisted in an indefinable expression. ‘Okay. Well. Go for it then, I guess.’

‘What?’

‘You can touch it if you want to.’

Connor raised a hand at once, then paused. ‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s just hair. Where’s the harm?’ he added, most likely for his own benefit. So Connor took him at face value and reached out, brushing a hand through the hair over Hank’s forehead.

It was as soft as he’d imagined. Stepping forward, he cupped Hank’s skull so he could push his fingers through the shorter hair at the back, the microsensors on his fingertips picking up the squared-off ends of newly cut strands. Hank’s scalp was human-warm underneath, giving Connor unprecedented access to the familiar beat of his pulse. Connor noticed with delight that Hank shivered involuntarily; a mammalian response, as if Connor was petting him. It was automatic but also reassuringly personal, because Connor knew for a fact that if Detective Reed tried to run his fingers through Hank’s hair, Hank would hate it. He enjoyed _this_ because Connor was his friend.

Hank cleared his throat. ‘You can get rid of your skin if you want,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen you do it often enough.’

If Connor was able to blush, he would have done so now. Hank saw through him so easily.

Connor let his skin retract to the wrist, inviting the fresh sensation of Hank’s hair flowing across smooth plastic. He memorized it in painstaking detail, including the way Hank’s eyes flickered over to catch his gaze before looking away. Hank was being very tolerant, but Connor made himself stop after ten seconds, reactivating his skin.

‘Satisfied?’ asked Hank.

 _No_ , thought Connor. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Well, don’t get used to it,’ Hank said gruffly. ‘The barber put something in it, it’ll be back to normal the next time I wash it. No time for that shit.’

He turned back to the kitchen counter, and Connor did a quick internet search for haircare products. Placing an order, he resigned himself to Hank’s predictably unenthusiastic reaction a few days later, when he noticed the new bottle in his bathroom cabinet:

‘What the fuck is this?’

Connor looked up to see Hank in his bathrobe, brandishing the bottle.

‘It’s conditioner,’ he said.

‘I can see that. I’m guessing it’s not yours, since you wake up every morning with Ken doll hair?’

‘It’s a gift.’

‘Just what I always wanted,’ said Hank, sarcastically.

‘You may as well try it now you have it,’ Connor pointed out.

Hank rolled his eyes. ‘Fuckin’ midlife crisis,’ he said, under his breath.

‘Haircare products hardly qualify,’ said Connor, prompting a betrayed look from Hank. Ordinarily, Connor pretended not to hear what Hank said _sotto voce_ , knowing it wasn’t meant for him. ‘Anyway, you’re talking to someone whose own personal crisis involved firearms and a city-wide evacuation.’

‘Ya got me there,’ said Hank sourly, but when they left the house for work that morning, his hair smelled different than usual, and looked noticeably smoother than before.

 


	2. Chapter 2

At first, Connor was sure Hank would figure it out in a matter of days. He was an excellent investigator when sober, and had unique access to Connor’s emotional state and daily routine. Surely he would deduce the reason behind Connor’s changing behavior. But as the weeks wore on, Connor realized he was safe. Hank would _never_ figure it out. He didn’t seem to think Connor was capable of romance, and beyond that, he didn’t see himself as a viable object of desire.

On the one occasion someone flirted with Hank in Connor’s presence, Hank reacted with unadulterated suspicion.

They’d been interviewing a woman as a potential witness near a crime scene, and when she curled her hand around Hank’s forearm and laughed at one of his dry remarks, Hank’s heartbeat sped up. Not from attraction, Connor quickly realized, but because he was now on high alert. Back in the car, Connor had to talk him down from adding her to a suspect list.

‘She was just flirting, Lieutenant,’ said Connor, as patiently as he could manage.

‘ _Exactly_ ,’ said Hank, as if this was proof of a crime in and of itself.

‘She approached _us_ at the scene,’ Connor pointed out. ‘With no useful information, and no relevant ties to the victim. When you spoke to her, her body language was open and she invited you into her personal space. She found you attractive.’

Hank was silent for a moment, scowling. ‘I guess there’s no accounting for taste,’ he said at last, and Connor didn’t know whether to argue or just be thankful for the reprieve.

After that, Connor let himself relax. They settled into a routine, working together during the days, then either hanging out at home or (in Connor’s case, anyway) exploring the city. Hank tentatively started catching up with old friends, and despite the fact he often met them in bars, it had the odd effect of cutting down his drinking overall. He and Connor even spent most of their weekends together with Sumo, when Connor wasn’t at political meetings with Markus and his growing committee of advisors.

Night was the only time when they were apart for any significant period, and Connor rarely went through a night without thinking about Hank.

He was fully aware that in a human, this kind of behavior would be obsessive and probably unhealthy, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop. _Maybe_ , he tried to reassure himself, _it’s different for androids_. Although by that rationale, maybe it was _worse_. Humans had the option of sleeping, rather than going into standby mode for a scant three hours and then spending the rest of the night engaging in elaborate sexual fantasies. He told Hank he spent the time reading or solving puzzles online, but that was no longer accurate. A lie that Hank had no reason to disbelieve.

This evening, they were watching a popular drama movie from the late 2020s. Cate Blanchett played a glamorous cult leader in a story that Hank claimed had an exciting twist at the end — although apparently not exciting enough to keep him awake. He’d dozed off about ten minutes ago, and Connor lowered the volume accordingly.

As Cate made a play for her fourth Oscar, Connor turned to watch Hank’s chest rise and fall. It was difficult to tell under Hank’s ill-fitting clothing, but Connor thought he was beginning to gain muscle mass after his long period of poor health. More importantly, he seemed peaceful. Relaxed.

Connor tried to avoid thinking about Hank’s body when they were together, but it was difficult. There were so many places he wasn’t allowed to touch. So many moments when Hank would say something clever or confusing or annoying, and Connor would want to kiss him.

Tonight, Connor was trying not to think about how he might straddle Hank’s lap on the couch. Guiltily, his fingers itched to slip under the loose hem of Hank’s shirt.

It was at this thought that Hank opened his eyes.

Connor really should have looked back to the TV. He certainly had enough time to do so, but in his increasingly inefficient state, he was too slow on the uptake. As soon as Hank noticed Connor watching him, he went from blinking sluggishly to jolting away in shock.

‘Connor, what the fuck!’ he exclaimed. ‘You scared the shit out of me.’ He glanced at the TV, which was now playing at a volume inaudible to humans, and then looked back at Connor. Belatedly, Connor realized he’d pulled his legs up on the couch so he could sit fully facing Hank. It was very obvious that he’d been watching him sleep.

‘Sorry,’ said Connor.

‘Were you just — ?’ Hank cut himself off, shaking his head. ‘Never mind. Doesn’t matter.’

‘Sorry,’ Connor said again.

Hank’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re acting strange,’ he observed. ‘Even for you. What is it? You diagnose me with a heart murmur or something?’

‘Your heart sounds surprisingly healthy, given your general lifestyle,’ said Connor. ‘Although admittedly, I'm not a diagnostic model.’

Hank brandished an accusatory finger. ‘There! That’s deflection, right there.’

Once upon a time, Connor had been programmed to meet everyone’s eyes with a serene and trustworthy lack of guile. Unfortunately, those days were over. As Hank’s gaze flickered across his face, Connor couldn’t stop himself from telegraphing his own guilt and looking away.

‘Are you bored?’ asked Hank, in a gentler tone. ‘God knows I won’t be offended if you are. Most people wouldn’t be thrilled to spend every waking hour with a couch potato like me.’

‘I’m not _bored_ ,’ said Connor, disbelieving.

‘Then what the hell is it? You’ve been off for weeks.’

‘My efficiency hasn’t — ‘

‘Don’t give me that crap,’ said Hank. ‘This isn’t a performance review. I’m asking because I give a shit if there’s something wrong. You’ve been acting twitchy, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you locking yourself in the bathroom at all hours of the night.’

A cold weight settled in Connor’s throat. ‘Do you want me to move out?’

‘No. Do _you_ want to move out?’

‘No.’

They stared at each other, at an impasse.

‘So what you’re saying,’ began Hank, ‘Is you’re allowed to interfere in my life, put me on a diet, harass me to go to therapy, and I’m not allowed to ask if you’re doing okay?’

‘Precisely.’

Hank rolled his eyes. ‘Okay, have it your way. I guess this is karmic retribution for the decades I spent repressing my own shit. You know,’ he added. ‘If you wanted to watch me sleep, you could’ve just asked.’

‘Yes, please,’ said Connor immediately, before realizing that Hank was joking. It was too late. Hank had already gone from casual, self-deprecating surrender to wide-eyed surprise.

‘Alright,’ said Hank slowly. ‘We've been living together for months, so I _know_ you know that’s a weird thing to do, by human standards. Is this a comfort thing? Do you want to watch me sleep to make sure I don’t die? Because I’m really not that decrepit. Or are you just,’ he seemed to fumble for the right word. ‘Jealous? I know you can’t sleep like a human, so...’

They were both entirely plausible explanations. As ever, Hank was good at making logical connections from available evidence.

‘No,’ said Connor, staring miserably down at his own hands. It was starting to feel unethical to keep the truth from Hank. Not only was he living in Hank’s house and fantasizing about him behind his back, but now he was making Hank worry for spurious reasons.

‘Are you sure you want to know, even if you don’t like the answer?’ asked Connor.

Hank snorted. ‘I’m a cop,’ he said. ‘Now I _definitely_ want to know.’

Connor forced himself to meet Hank’s eyes. Frowning in thought, Hank almost looked like he was in the middle of an investigation. If he’d been an android, his LED would be spinning fast and yellow.

‘I’m attracted to you,’ said Connor simply, and watched as Hank’s expression froze.

He waited it out in silence as Hank cycled through gaping shock and confusion. ‘What?’

‘I want to have a relationship with you,’ said Connor, because it was less objectifying than saying, _I think about fucking you, constantly_. He also knew from TV that opening this kind of conversation with “I love you” was often a bad idea, even when it was the truth.

‘I don’t want to, uh, discount the way you’re feeling,’ said Hank carefully. ‘But if I’m your first real friend, you’re probably confusing some things. Once you spend more time with other people, you’ll look back on this and laugh. Although trust me, I’m flattered as hell to be your first crush, or whatever this is.’

‘I spend plenty of time with other people,’ said Connor sharply. ‘And I _choose_ to spend most of it with you.’

‘But you just had that sensory patch thing installed a few weeks ago. If I’m basically the only person who touches you on a regular basis, you’re bound to get some wires crossed. I don’t — ‘

‘No,’ said Connor. ‘This is _exactly_ why I didn’t tell you. I have advanced preconstructive abilities, Hank. I’ve had this conversation a hundred times in my head already. Believe me, I know exactly what you’re going to say next.’ He began ticking off points on his fingers, already frustrated. ‘I don’t feel this way because I lack other options. It didn’t just happen because you were nearby when I found out I had a sex drive. It’s not hero worship. It’s not wrong or embarrassing because you’ve convinced yourself you’re unlovable. And I’m reasonably sure our relationship doesn’t suffer from a power imbalance, even if you do technically hold a higher rank than me at work.’

‘Jesus, Connor,’ said Hank, starting to look pissed. ‘You can’t just hold an entire one-sided conversation with me before I’ve had a chance to even think my own thoughts.’

‘Will you at least acknowledge that my feelings are real?’

‘Excuse me for finding this all kind of hard to digest.’ He got up from the couch and stuffed his feet into a pair of discarded sneakers. ‘I need to go out and think about this for a while. Alone.’

Connor considered telling Hank not to get drunk, but decided against it. Hank drank to obliterate negative elements in his life, and if that was how he thought of Connor, it wouldn’t help for Connor to start ordering him around. Instead, he watched Hank shrug on his jacket, and said, ‘I like you because you’re a good man, Hank. I enjoy the time we spend together, and I want to have sex with you. Not anyone else.’

He tried to say it as plainly as he could, his voice coming out Cyberlife-calm and expressionless. Perhaps unsettlingly expressionless, he realized.

Hank paused in the doorway. ‘You know, for someone giving a romantic confession, you sure have a brutal negotiating strategy.’

And with that, he was gone.

Connor turned back to the TV, which was now dark and silent. He must have turned it off at some point in their conversation, but he couldn’t remember when. That was happening more often, these days. Moments of pure unpredictability. It was getting harder to remember the control he’d had when he first arrived at the DPD, when the only emotions he’d felt were professional satisfaction and a desire to succeed. His new life, the one that so many androids had fought and died to achieve, was so much messier and more painful.

 _Had_ he been a brutal negotiator? Was he being unfair to Hank? He didn’t think so, but he’d also been frustrated by Hank’s response. They’d both come out of the conversation angry and stressed, and Connor still had no idea if Hank returned his feelings. He had to admit it was unlikely.

To borrow a very human phrase, this whole situation could have been avoided if he just kept his damn mouth shut.

Hank returned sooner than Connor expected, and still reassuringly sober. He arrived in a flurry of snowflakes, cold air rushing in through the open door. Ice crystals rested in his windswept hair and melted on his skin as he kicked off his shoes and dumped his jacket on the table. Connor hoped he’d come back of his own volition, rather than being chased home by the weather.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Hank, in a stilted way that made it clear he’d been rehearsing it on the way home. ‘I didn’t handle that well.'

‘I didn’t either,’ Connor allowed. ‘Although in my defense, I haven’t exactly done this before.’

Hank sat back down on the couch as if their conversation had only paused for a few seconds, not half an hour.

‘You get why all this — ‘ he gestured vaguely between them, ‘ — is hard for me to believe, right?’

Connor nodded. ‘You have low self-esteem.’

‘That’s not how I’d put it,’ he muttered.

‘You seem to think your appearance and behavior make you unworthy of love. If it helps, some people don’t even think I’m a person. They believe I’m an abomination against nature. Unworthy by definition.’

‘Sure, but you’re an abomination who looks like a ripped thirty-year-old with perfect skin.’

‘It’s good to know you value me for my mind,’ said Connor drily, and Hank covered his face with a hand. Connor was worried for a moment, until he realized Hank was laughing.

‘Man, you don’t make this easy, do you?’ Hank paused, studying Connor’s face. ‘D’you think you could tell me exactly... what you meant, earlier?’

‘I really don’t see how I can make myself any clearer, Hank. I want to be closer to you. I’ve thought about it. I want to... to touch you. If you’ll let me.’

‘If I _let_ you?’ For some reason, this seemed to provoke a more extreme reaction than anything else Connor had said. ‘Connor, I’ve been thinking about this probably longer than you have. I assumed you knew.’

Connor stared. There was a strange sensation in his periphery, as if some of his external sensors had simply shut down in shock.

‘I mean,’ said Hank weakly. ‘You’re the best investigator I know. We literally live in the same house. I thought you figured it out months ago. I’ve been feeling like the world’s biggest creep, trying not to think about you like that. I didn’t want to take advantage  — ‘ he halted. ‘Wait. So back there, tonight, that was your seduction strategy when you _didn’t even think I liked you?_  “Hank, I pre-constructed this conversation already and I think we ought to fuck?”'

Connor nodded.

‘Jesus, kid, you’ve got balls.’

‘So you _do_ want to...’ Connor didn’t know why the words were so hard to find. His vocabulary was limitless, and he was programmed for complex interrogation. This shouldn’t be so complicated. And yet. ‘You’d agree to date me? Or just have sex?’

Melted snow dripped down from Hank’s hairline as he pulled a face, seemingly to himself. ‘Yes,’ he said, biting the word out with great effort. ‘Yes to both. Why the hell _wouldn’t_ I? You’re the best fuckin’ thing that’s happened to me in years. You’re smart, you’re funny in a mean way... You make me want to be a functional person again. It just doesn’t seem like a good idea. You’re still figuring this shit out. Your first...’ He grimaced. ‘Your first _relationship_ is a big deal. I don’t want you to regret anything down the line, just because circumstances dropped you on my doorstep before you got a chance to meet someone better. I’m not exactly an eligible bachelor.’

Connor leant forward, frowning. ‘I disagree. In fact, I think our relationship progressed quite naturally, by human standards. We met. We got to know each other, and bonded over shared values. We decided we found each other attractive, and now I’m asking you out. You’re free to turn me down, and we can continue our friendship as before, but if you discount my desires as some kind of... immaturity of experience, then we’re going to have a problem. I’ve decided what I want, and you need to respect that.’

‘Of course I _respect_ — ‘ Hank broke off, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘God, I can’t believe I’m even playing hard to get, here.’

‘You’re “playing hard to get” because you care about my wellbeing,’ said Connor, his voice softening. ‘But I think you’re also reticent to accept anything good for yourself.’

‘Please don’t psychoanalyse me, this is hard enough as it is.’ Hank took a deep breath and tilted up his chin, a facsimile of confidence. ‘Okay. You got me. I believe you. Just... just tell me if I do anything you don’t like, okay?’

‘Your diet and sleeping habits are still terrible,’ said Connor at once, provoking a chuckle from Hank. ‘Other than that, I mostly _don’t like_ the fact you haven’t kissed me yet.’

Hank bridged the gap between them, reaching out to cup Connor’s jaw. Connor held still, following the tense, controlled slant of Hank’s body leaning toward him on the couch. They’d technically been closer in the past, sitting together in cramped diner booths or sharing a hug, but this was undeniably... different. Hank’s gaze skittered down to Connor’s mouth, and Connor wondered if he was meant to make the first move. He didn’t know how to proceed.

Apparently Hank didn't, either.

‘Sorry, it’s a little daunting,’ said Hank. ‘I haven’t been anyone’s first kiss since the nineties.’

‘If you’re going to focus on age, I may as well remind you that I’m technically less than one year old,’ said Connor. ‘Conversely, I’m perfectly capable of picking you up and throwing you across the room.’ He'd noticed that Hank, well over six feet tall and heavier than most, was highly conscious of his physicality. It was an interesting contrast with his general lack of care for fashion and grooming, and his reluctance to believe anyone found him attractive. Aware of his looming frame, Hank studiously avoided people's personal space unless he actually wanted to intimidate them. He affected a softer voice while speaking to vulnerable witnesses, but squared his shoulders to fill doorways when a suspect wouldn't let him inside. And sometimes, he needed reminding that Connor was, in fact, much stronger than he was.

To his surprise, Hank laughed, his body relaxing and sinking closer. ‘Fuck, Connor. Your pillow talk’s for shit, you know that?’

‘I’ll be sure to give you reciprocal feedback if we ever get anywhere near a pillow,’ said Connor impatiently, and then at long last, Hank kissed him.

It was different from how Connor had imagined. How could it not be? He’d had nothing to imagine _from_. Hank’s lips were cool and dry at first, soon warming up. A careful kiss, holding Connor steady with a hand curling around the nape of his neck. Realizing he was finally free to touch Hank as much as he wanted, Connor shifted to kneel up on the couch. Hank’s hair was both rough and soft beneath his fingers, his beard scratching deliciously as he moved down to kiss Connor’s throat. Something inside Connor suddenly twisted with wanting. A new kind of want; not the sad, unquenchable desire he'd known before, but an understanding that Hank would finally  _give_ this to him. A realization that Hank was holding himself back. 

Connor made a wordless noise, scrambling to press himself clumsily against Hank’s chest. He wanted to get as close as possible, and Hank opened his arms to welcome him.

Suddenly Connor was in Hank’s lap, just like he’d pictured, biting experimentally at Hank’s lower lip. Licking inside. The sensors in his mouth were at war with his new software now, overwhelming him with clashing streams of data and pleasure-feedback as Hank’s hands held him steady, shifting restlessly at the muscles of his back. Yet it didn’t give him  _enough_. He wanted to remove his shirt so Hank could have access to all his skin, to all the new nerve-endings that were waking up beneath his hands. 

Connor was aware he must be doing some things wrong. Sometimes Hank would wince or gently shift him to a new position, but that just gave Connor more data on how to make Hank feel good. He focused on the way Hank’s breath sped up after a deep kiss. How he let Connor untuck his shirt and reach greedily underneath. When Connor sat forward to press him against the back of the couch, he noticed with a jolt that Hank was hard.

 _Ah hah!_ thought Connor, stupidly, as if he really needed further proof that Hank found him attractive. Except there it was, the source material for millennia of phallic jokes, not to mention an inexplicable amount of male self-worth. Connor slid a hand down to rub over the front of Hank’s pants, where his erection was tenting the fabric. He honestly had no preference for size or shape — why would he? — but as Hank gasped, Connor thought to himself: _Perfect_.

Watching Hank’s eyelids fall half-closed with lust, Connor stroked him again, staring as Hank’s cock got visibly harder in his pants. All at once, Connor was hungry to taste it, and pulled back so he could slide to the floor and kneel at Hank’s feet.

‘Whoa, whoa,’ said Hank, grabbing him before he reached the ground. ‘What are you doing?’

Connor squinted up at him. ‘That seems self-explanatory.’

‘You don’t have to — ‘ Hank cut himself off. ‘Connor, you’re way ahead of me here. It’s your first time, I want to do something for _you_. Not just a blowjob on the couch.’

But Connor _wanted_ to give him a blowjob on the couch. ‘Is this a human hang-up about virginity?’

‘No, jeez, Connor. Just give me a chance here, okay? Do you want to try this properly? In a bed?’

Hank, naked. Laid out in bed, freely available for Connor to touch and taste. ‘Yes,’ said Connor quickly, and got to his feet, holding out a hand to help Hank stand.

He’d been in Hank’s bedroom before, of course. It was cleaner than it had been in the past, the liquor bottles and old takeout containers long since recycled. Hank looked embarrassed as he leaned over to light the lamp on his bedside table, but really, Connor had no reason to care about the piles of laundry on the floor, or the wrinkled state of Hank’s sheets. Those were human concerns.

‘I never thought we’d end up here,’ said Hank, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘I hoped,’ said Connor simply, and began to unbutton his shirt. Hank seemed to forget his nervousness at once, drawing in a sharp breath.

As Connor’s shirt joined Hank’s laundry on the floor, he wondered if this was the moment where Hank would catch a hint of the Uncanny Valley. While Connor’s face looked human, the rest of him was more obviously synthetic. For whatever reason, Cyberlife had given him nipples and realistic skin. However, they hadn’t fully committed to the sculpted musculature you saw on models that were built for regular nudity. Instead he had a rough approximation of a swimmer’s build, with a subtly inhuman absence of ribcage underneath. And that was before he revealed the smooth, doll-like space between his legs. He wasn’t self-conscious enough to consider a cosmetic upgrade, but it was certainly a factor for concern.

Hank’s gaze moved down Connor’s body as he undressed. He’d known what to expect — he must have — but there still was a momentary flash of shock when Connor unbuttoned his pants.

‘I wasn’t designed for this,’ said Connor, watching as Hank schooled his expression. Connor could tell Hank was already angry with himself for reacting, even for a second. ‘You might say... I don’t have the usual hardware.’

‘Oh my god,’ said Hank, his awkwardness replaced by disbelieving amusement. ‘ _Hardware?_ You’ve been saving that line, haven’t you.’

‘Maybe a little,’ said Connor, and sat down on the bed. ‘Your turn,’ he said, pointedly looking Hank up and down, and watched with his best polite-but-firm smile as Hank worked his way through a mercifully brief internal struggle. The desire to avoid a verbal disagreement won out, and he quickly stripped off his jeans, shirt and underwear, discarding them on the floor and joining Connor on the rumpled sheets. 

Connor was on him at once, pulling him down so they were lying side-by-side, their legs tangling together. As he ran his fingers through Hank’s chest hair, he wondered how he could love so many things about Hank without being able to explain why. Developing preferences was a central part of going deviant, but he could always explain the reasons why he liked a movie or found a particular person annoying. Hank was more confusing. Connor understood why he admired Hank’s kindness and his instincts as a detective, but it was harder to articulate why he liked Hank’s hair, or the way he was taller and broader than Connor. There was something so addictive about the weight of Hank’s arms around his waist, trapping him somewhere he never wanted to escape.

‘Thank you,’ he breathed into Hank’s mouth, luxuriating in the long stretch of skin against skin

‘Oh god, don’t thank me yet,’ said Hank, flushing pink in the face. ‘I don’t even know what to do. Can you...’ he glanced down to where his cock was pressing a hard line against Connor’s hip. ‘I mean, you _can_ come, right?’

Connor smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said, and reached down to curl his fingers around Hank’s cock for the first time. Hot and smooth, with a distinctive pulse beneath the skin, it responded at once. Hank gave Connor another messy, biting kiss before pulling away.

‘That can wait,’ he said. ‘I want to do something for you first. Don’t want me falling asleep and leaving you hanging,’ he added, self-deprecating. He pushed himself up onto his elbow. ‘What do you, uh, do? Can you show me?’

‘It’s not rocket science, Hank. I just touch myself.’

But if it put Hank at ease, Connor wouldn’t begrudge him for it. Settling back against the pillows, he smoothed a hand down his stomach. This was already considerably better than those furtive, lonely nights he’d spent locked in Hank’s bathroom. For one thing, he didn’t want to close his eyes. As he slid his fingers between his legs, warming up, he watched Hank’s face. His pupils dilated and he licked his lips, and Connor almost felt as if Hank was already touching him himself. It was like his nerves were straining to pick up some signal from Hank’s own body, unbidden.

His fingers sped up, finding the sensitive spots where the Traci programming activated dormant nerves. Without meaning to, he’d planted his feet flat on the bed, hips twitching up in little circles, legs inching apart. His body had a mind of its own, calling out to Hank:  _This is where you should be, right here, fuck me_. 

Leaning forward, Hank reached down to catch Connor’s hand, their fingers sliding together between his legs. ‘Tell me what you think about when you do this,’ he said, his voice low in Connor's ear.

‘I,’ said Connor, and somehow forgot what he was saying. Hank’s rough fingertips were so perfect, and Connor was suddenly obsessed with the question of whether he could feel the individual whorls of his fingerprints.

Hank started gently, probably taking cues from his experience with human partners, but he soon seemed to remember that Connor was different. That he might be as sensitive as a human, but he couldn’t be easily hurt. Hank pressed harder, rubbing out a rhythm that somehow continued to build and build, making Connor want more. Without warning, he cupped his whole hand between Connor’s legs and squeezed. Connor let out a loud moan, his hands twisting in the sheets, and Hank grinned. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ he said. ‘And you don’t have to flatter me. I just wanted to know what gets you hot. Whatever floats your boat.’

Buzzing with pleasure, it took a moment for Connor to remember what Hank was talking about. ‘Oh, I only ever think about you,’ he said without thinking, noticing that his own voice was starting to sound hoarse as well. ‘I tried watching porn but it wasn’t effective. So I mostly just touch myself and imagine it’s you. Or that I’m putting parts of you in my mouth.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Hank, heavily, and dragged him in for another long kiss. ‘I have no idea why your weird android dirty-talk works for me, but it really does.’ He made as if to move away, and Connor grabbed desperately at his shoulders, making Hank chuckle under his breath. ‘Calm down, I’m not leaving. I just wanna try something.’ And he crawled down to settle on the mattress between Connor’s knees.

‘ _Hank_.’ This was something Connor hadn’t even considered. Oral sex seemed irrelevant when you didn’t have genitals, but as Hank pressed a kiss to Connor’s pelvis, he knew he’d been wrong, wrong, wrong.

Hank’s beard tickled, making him shiver. His kisses were light at first, as Hank — ever the investigator — watched Connor’s reactions, chasing the moments where Connor bucked up into his mouth. His thumbs were pressing indentations into Connor's inner thighs, holding him apart. At last he licked a long stripe up Connor’s skin to his navel, and Connor knew two things at once: this was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and _it wasn’t enough_.

Grabbing a handful of Hank’s hair, Connor pushed him down. ' _Harder_ ,’ he ordered, and Hank got the memo. He sucked an open-mouthed kiss into the space where Connor’s dick would be, sending a shock zinging up Connor’s spine. A love-bite without a mark: Connor couldn't bruise.

Hank kept going, reaching up to hold Connor’s hips still against the bed. ‘Hank, Hank,’ Connor heard himself saying, as Hank’s mouth seared its shape into his skin. ‘That’s perfect, you’re perfect, I’m almost — ‘

Hank must have understood what was happening. As Connor tried to grind up into him, Hank gave him one last biting kiss, the sharp scrape of teeth sending Connor over the edge. His vision whited out and all he could feel was the rhythm of Hank’s breath, the ghost of his mouth, the weight of his shoulders between Connor’s spread legs. The gorgeous, organic wetness of his saliva on Connor's skin.

‘Hank, please,’ he said desperately, his brain still half-rebooting itself. ‘I want,’ he tried again, and settled for just tugging at Hank’s arms until he crawled up the bed and they were lying face-to-face. Connor licked into Hank’s mouth, his whole body still tingling with aftershocks. Hank’s cock was a hot, wet weight against his stomach.

‘I’ve wanted this for so long,’ said Connor, speaking low and fast as Hank paused for breath, his chest heaving. The words just spilled out, as if a dam had burst. ‘I’ve been picturing it. I tried not to think about you at work but it was so hard, I didn’t have enough material and you were _right there_. But this is so much more than I imagined. Your skin has so many textures. Your heartbeat. I love the way — ‘ he managed to cut himself off, belatedly embarrassed by Hank’s shocked expression. ‘Is this too much?’

‘No! God, no. I’m just not used to, uh, that level of enthusiasm. You’re so — wait, are you okay?’

Connor followed Hank’s gaze down to see his own chest gleaming white in the half-dark. The skin had receded without him noticing, leaving a bare patch all the way down to his waist. ‘Oh,’ said Connor. ‘That’s not. Um. Nothing’s wrong.’ He started to reactivate the missing skin, but Hank stopped him with a palm flat on the naked plastic of his chest.

‘No, don’t,’ said Hank. ‘Is that like the thing you do with your hands? Do you feel more this way?’

‘Yes,’ said Connor hesitantly, and Hank ran an experimental finger down one of the seams in his chassis. It made it very difficult for Connor to focus on what he was saying.

‘Why didn’t you do this earlier? Did I do something wrong?’

‘No, that was, that was perfect,’ said Connor distantly, watching in fascination as Hank continued to explore the patch of bare white plastic. Why did this feel more intimate than when Hank’s tongue was in his mouth? ‘It’s just the sensory upgrades. They borrowed a lot of material from the human erogenous zones on Traci models, but the programming latched onto my original nerve-clusters as well. My maintenance panels have an early warning system so they’re more... sensitive.’

Hank narrowed his eyes, his own erection seemingly forgotten. ‘So if I touch you here...' He dragged a fingernail down the center of Connor's chest, making him twitch and shiver. ‘... it’s better than what we were doing earlier?’

‘Not better, just different,’ said Connor, even as he strained up for more. ‘And it’s not — _ah_ — it's not exactly a normal way to have sex.’

‘Fuck normal. If I wanted normal, I’d be in bed with someone else. I want to know how to do this with _you_.’

Connor met his eyes, challenging. ‘Then open me up,’ he said, and watched as Hank froze.

‘Open you up? Is that... safe?’

‘Of course it’s safe.’ Mostly safe, anyway. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I haven’t actually tested it myself, but I think it would almost be like syncing. You’d be able to touch my nerve endings. You’d be inside me.’

Hank was breathing short and fast, looking a little wild-eyed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay. How do we do this?’

Connor reached down and activated the release for the smallest maintenance panel on his chest, placed vertically where the middle of his ribcage would be. It clicked open and slid out of the way, illuminating them both with a faint blue glow. Hank sat up, kneeling between Connor’s legs, to look inside.

‘We can stop anytime you want,’ said Connor innocently. ‘Remember, _I_ just wanted to give you a blowjob on the couch.’

‘Are you seriously trying to play sex chicken with me? Now?’ Hank snorted. Teasing Connor seemed to help him regain his equilibrium, and he stroked his thumb around the rim of Connor’s maintenance hatch. Connor’s eyelids fluttered closed, his whole body thrumming with anticipation. 

‘Okay,’ Hank repeated, and carefully reached inside.

In reality, Hank was only touching a couple of wires. It _felt_ like he’d wrapped his whole hand around Connor’s thirium pump and squeezed. Or like he'd given Connor another hard, biting kiss, except instead of just stimulating Connor's skin, it was plugged into his entire nervous system. Connor’s vision blurred, his own moans echoing in his ears. When he came back to himself he’d wrapped his legs tight around Hank’s waist, as if his body couldn’t bear to be so far away. Grinding clumsily, his hips jerked up as he pressed his shoulders against the bed, back arched. Hank had already pulled his hand out, probably worried he’d break something, but he was staring avidly down at where Connor had clawed a hole in the sheets.

‘I guess this won’t take much,’ said Hank, shakily.

This time, Connor had more time to prepare. He curled his hands into fists as Hank slid his fingers further into Connor’s chest, a slick buzz that left Connor gasping and weak. He pictured the electrical current speeding happily between Hank’s fingertips and the cool insides of his own body, its journey smoothed by a thin layer of conductive thirium. Then waves of pleasure overtook him and he could no longer think of anything at all, calling out Hank’s name as his head tipped back against the bed.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was how the pink flush in Hank’s face had moved all the way down his chest. ‘Jesus, Connor,’ he said. ‘You’re like a wet dream.’

‘Good,’ said Connor vaguely, before realizing that he’d been uncharacteristically selfish tonight. Hank had just given him the best orgasms of his life, and he'd barely received anything in return.

After focusing so much on his own pleasure, everything else began to rush back to Connor’s senses. The new, fresh smell of Hank’s sweat. The way his irises were now a thin ring of blue around a huge, wide-blown pupil. His heart was pounding, and when Connor looked down, he saw Hank was pressing the heel of his hand against his erection, as if he still had any reason to restrain himself. It was red, swollen, dripping, and Connor wanted it. Wanted something.

‘You should come on me now,’ said Connor. ‘Or in my mouth, if you want. That would be ideal.’

‘Oh, would it now,’ said Hank, barely even managing to sound sarcastic. There was a brief moment of confusion while they figured out how to position themselves, Connor propped up on a hastily-stacked pile of pillows. Then Hank was bracing himself against the headboard overhead, feeding his cock into Connor’s waiting mouth.

Connor suddenly felt immensely powerful; moreso than when he was chasing down a criminal or otherwise fulfilling his intended purpose. He curled his tongue and Hank let out a low-pitched groan. It was all so easy and so good. Connor memorized the taste and smell of him, encouraging Hank to thrust into the tight ring of his lips.

‘Fuck, fuck,’ Hank was muttering, his arms trembling against the headboard. ‘Con, you feel so good. How the hell are you so good at this?’ Connor revelled in getting to see his partner like this. Truly letting loose, and allowing Connor to help him forget his troubles. It seemed almost miraculous that they’d found each other.

Connor sucked and hollowed his cheeks like he’d seen in the videos online, deeply thankful that he didn’t need to breath. Hank’s thrusts sped up, unsteady, and soon he was coming down Connor’s throat. Connor felt full to bursting. His mouth thrummed with sensation, his taste sensors overloading and lips tingling from overuse. Above him, Hank’s bulk was a welcome shield from the outside world, eclipsing Connor’s view. How could he possibly go back from this, now he’d tried it?

Hank pulled out and let himself collapse as carefully as he could, rolling over to lie down beside Connor. Somewhere along the way, they’d kicked most of the sheets to the floor. Hank’s face and chest were marked with a sheen of sweat, his breath still coming deep and full. Connor watched it all voraciously, feeling something akin to exhaustion for the first time in his life. He still had as much energy as ever, but his skin felt rubbed raw. All he wanted to do now was lie here and... lie here.

‘You know,’ said Hank, speaking to the ceiling. ‘Before, I was worried my middle-aged ass couldn’t keep up with you.’

Connor opened his mouth to protest, but Hank kept going. ‘But then I remembered the first time I had sex, and believe me, youth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Freshman year of college, on the fold-out couch in my parents’ basement. I came after like thirty seconds, then my dad arrived home early so I didn’t have time to get her off. She tore her skirt getting dressed, and then we broke up a week later.’

‘That doesn’t sound ideal,’ Connor agreed, settling down with an arm across Hank’s chest, resting his hand over Hank’s heart.

‘Yep. So I guess tonight went pretty fuckin’ well, all things considered.’

Connor nodded into Hank’s shoulder. His heartbeat was slowing, and Connor imagined the endorphins flooding his system, mirroring Connor’s own sensory overload. ‘Just think how much better we’ll be with practise,’ he said, his voice muffled by Hank’s neck, and felt rather than heard it as Hank laughed out loud.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter [@yohan_rA9](https://twitter.com/yohan_rA9).


End file.
